Untold
by SpiritBearr
Summary: Some stories were never meant to be shared with anyone. A potential series of drabbles of moments of laughter, tears, brotherhood, love, anger, and trust-you don't spend so many years with people without becoming family. Rating will vary. DA2 verse.
1. Finding It

**Finding It**

**Characters: Aidyn Hawke + Fenris **

**Pairing: Hawke/Fenris**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Romance/Friendship  
><strong>

**A/N:** What is this I don't even. :/ I duno, it just wanted to come out. Like I said, right now fanfiction is more of a sounding board for me then anything else right now- when I'm blocked for my main works or just need to get out something, it comes here. And this wouldn't leave me alone. I'm not sure _how_ I feel about it- I think I rather like it. Might lead to other drabbles. Might not. For now, it's a one shot.** **There is a chance any other drabbles will revolve around my other DA2 charries, bouncing amongst them. M/M and F/F to be found here, so reader beware. ****

** I make no promises about the validity of the latin in this work. It's all taken off line; hopefully, it's at least least one line is a direct quote from the game itself. **

**Disclaimer (That I um, forgot in chapter one .) : No owney. I don't even have access to the _game_ right now; hopefully my disc will be fixed and change that. And hopefully it IS a disc problem. And fixable. *pout* **

* * *

><p>Aydin was a loveable goofball. No two ways about it- while he could be diplomatic and mature when he wanted to be, he spent most of his time in a state barely more collected then Merrill.<p>

That was to say, his lover was a naïve, gentle, over-grown _child_.

"Are you satisfied yet?"

"No. You must have one. Everyone does. _Everyone_."

A huff, white hair puffing out with the impatient- if amused- breath. "Then I am no one. I'm content to be so. Now let me up." Never mind that, really, he could pitch Aidyn across the room if he had a mind to. While the little mage was quite powerful in that aspect- and he was _not_ going to let himself over think the fact that the slender, small creature in his bed was a laughing, smiling, dimpled example of all he had spent so long hating- physically, there was no match between them.

"You know something? You are _unnatural_. You are- some kind of manifestation of _stick in the mud_. It's like your body has had so long to adapt to your grumpy, prickly ways it's _physically mutated_."

"I _think_ I'm starting to get offended, Aidyn. _Venhedis_!" He added in a sharp hiss, when Aidyn's knee landed squarely in his groin as the younger man crawled up his body.

"Oops. Sorry. About gelding you, I mean, not everything else. You know I don't mean it. The everything else, that is."

"_I know what you mean_." He growled, pulling a shuddering breath and shoving Aidyn _off_ of him at last. "Do you _ever_ stop talking?"

"Only when I'm asleep!"

"Lies." Pain faded, and with it did his bad temper. Aidyn, luckily, let Fenris's growling roll off his back like water, and went right back to his experimentations as if nothing had happened. "You natter in your sleep, too."

"Really? What do I say?"

"Mostly? Nothing worth paying attention to."

"_Thanks_."

"Were you not the one moments ago viciously insulting my nature because you can't find-"

"Oh, right!" And he went back to trying. Groaning at having reminded him of it, Fenris let his head roll back against the headrest. Aidyn's fingers were light and soft against his bare skin- surprisingly so. His own hands and fingers were callused and stiff from abuse and work- Aidyn, though his hands weren't newborn smooth, were just the opposite. He had his own share of calluses, though, in different places on the hands, on the fingers. Said fingers ran down his ribs, his stomach, the outside of his legs. It had been so long since touch hadn't hurt- either in the traditional sense or because of the markings in his skin. Aidyn's touch didn't hurt. At times it was overwhelming- sometimes it made him feel raw and hot, sometimes it made the markings in his skin _sing_ with something very _close_ to pain- but usually it was simply _touch_. Surprising in itself- you never realized how pleasant lack of pain was until you'd _been_ in it.

Aidyn's hands went to his feet, brushed the arch of them, once, twice. Fenris lifted a brow.

"No."

"Oh, _come on_!" Aidyn's voice broke on laughter.

"I'm simply not ticklish, Aidyn. Anywhere."

"That is just _not fun_."

"Are you pouting at me?"

"…No."

"_Festis bei umo canavarum_." He murmured, unable to keep the fondness from mingling with the irritation, unable to keep the smile from curving up his lips and giving the words a soft edge they normally would not have had.

"Fetsi-_what_ now?"

Fenris sighed. At the least, Aidyn had the attention span of a rabbit, and he knew very well how to distract his lover. He bent at the waist, snagging the front of the brown-haired man's shirt and dragging him up.

"You will be the death of me." He translated, noting the effect the language seemed to have had on his mage- it _always_ seemed to have.

"I could be." Purred softly, against his lips. "Just a _little _one, though."

Fenris laughed quietly, pulling him into a firm kiss. Aidyn melted against him, submissive and giving as he always was, trustingly handing all control up to Fenris. So trusting, so gentle- hard to believe that this same man, if pushed far enough, could destroy with his will and mind alone.

Aidyn made a low, soft, needy sound in the back of his throat, arms coming up to wrap around the back of Fenris's head- and _that_ is when he took his revenge.

The indignate, flustered squwak was more then worth the way their heads banged together when Aidyn tried to rear back as Fenris's fingers danced across his ribs, light as the wind or a butterfly. But too late- Fenris had found his prey's vulnerable spot and hung on. Aidyn fell back, laughing breathlessly and squirming under him. Broken between gasps for air, he begged Fenris to stop, kicked and squirmed and once _bit_, earning a hard pinch in retaliation.

" Bad Hawke. No biting."

"I thought you- _haha_- you _liked _being bitten- _hah_- Maker- can't- _breathe-" _

"If you can _still_ talk, you can breathe well enough." He felt his lips curl in an answering grin, the expression more and more familiar the longer he knew Aidyn.

"I will _vomit_- stop- please Fenris, _stop_!" The last was a whine, but genuine- Fenris had learned to tell the difference- Aidyn was walking the line between still enjoying it and honestly needing the torture to end. He immediately pulled away, letting Hawke curl into a loose ball, his laughter slowly trickling to a stop in harsh fits. When at last Aidyn was a limp, panting puddle but no longer racked with fits of giggles, Fenris tugged him upright.

And stopped to stare.

Aidyn was _always_ a sight to behold, more so then he knew, but now…his longish, shaggy brown hair was in disarray, falling over his face and into his eyes, partly obscuring the glittering green, darker then his own moss-colored ones. The tattoo around one eye made him look like an overgrown puppy, so much so that Fenris expected him to spout a tail and start wagging any minute. Even his seemingly perpetually stubble added to the childish, mischievous appearance, though the impish grin probably had a lot to do with that. He was flushed and panting, lips swollen from where he'd bitten them and eyes _dancing_ with laughter and love and spirit.

"_Te amo_." He rasped, before he could stop himself, before he even _heard_ himself. "You are _beautiful_." In so many ways.

And Hawke blushed. Smiled a softer, shy smile and blushed and ducked his head, rubbing the back of it. "Psh. You're just sucking up so I don't burn your eyebrows off for that stunt." He muttered, but when Fenris reached out to lift his chin, he couldn't seem to meet the elf's eyes.

"Hawke. Aidyn."

"What does that mean?" Softly, almost timidly, raising his eyes to met Fenris's at last.

"Come now, surely even you can understand a compliment when it's given." Fenris hedged. The words had slipped out- it was unlike him to speak without thinking, but he'd been caught by the sheer, almost force of _nature_ that Aidyn seemed to be, caught up in the unaccustomed surge of emotion in that moment.

"Not- never mind." The smile softened even more, then faltered, a little, turning sad at the corners. Wistful.

_Coward_, bit a voice at the back of Fenris's mind that, for some _Maker forsaken reason_ sounded rather like that abomin- _like Anders_.

_("He has a name. Use it, please." _

"_You have no room or right to tell me how to speak. Don't assume just because I care for you-" _

"_Aw, that's sweet, coming from you. But no, try again. Maybe I just don't like you insulting my friends around me?" _

"_It's simply the truth of what he is." _

"_Think that all you like, but not only am I sick to bloody death of you two growling at each other like a pair of ally cats, I am getting __**really tired**__ of you acting like a provocative __**child**__." _

"_**Excuse**__ me?" _

"_Oh, stow it. I love you, Fenris. Maker help me, I do. But I am going to take both your heads and clang them together if you both don't grow the hell up. And __**one**__ of you has to take the first step. I'm asking you to do that for me. I'm not looking for you to- to sit down and have drinks and share silly anecdotes with the man. I doubt you have very many anecdotes, anyway. I'm asking you to stop calling him The Abomination, The Mage, The Demon, The Monster, Hypocrite- yes, that's with a capital 'h', and by the way also could apply to you-" _

"_It does-" _

"_-shut up and let me speak, damn it. Daemn, Monstrum- subtle, those are, but then, you're not going for subtle, are you? Even __**I**__ know what you're saying when you say those." _

"_You certainly can't repeat them, though." _

"_Did I not tell you to shut up? We can talk about my horrible accent later. My point is, I'm just asking you to call him __**Anders**_**. **_Simple. Easy. Two syllables. If it helps, it's not even his real name.")_

When his inner voice had taken on even an aspect of Ander's tone, he didn't know or _want_ to know- probably over exposure to self righteous ranting. But in this case, the point was true. He _was_ a coward. He'd nearly lost Hawke because of it, once.

He was lucky Aidyn was patient, had waited for him… had _waited for him_ for _years_.

The stab of guilt lanced through his chest, and he blew out another huff of air.

_("You're a chicken-shit bastard, you know that?" _

"_You have half a minute to either explain yourself or run away." _

"_Hawke would be sort of upset if you killed me." _

"_The man who repeatedly pulls the tail of the wolf should not be surprised when he is __**bitten**__. Even Hawke understands that. What do you want, mage?" _

"_Wolf. Hah. More like 'kicked puppy dog'. Or maybe 'bad dog who __**deserves**__ to be kicked.'" _

"…_Nothing of substance, apparently. If you are trying to provoke a fight, I suggest you do so with someone less willing to intimately acquaint your lungs with your spine. From the inside. Repeatedly." _

"_He came to me, you know." _

"_Brilliant for you. Isabella or Varric would, perhaps, be more interested in your adventures together. If you wish to gloat, don't bother. He's no longer-" _

"_About three weeks ago. Showed up at my clinic in the middle of the night and damn near threw himself on me." _

"_Mage-" _

"_Kissed me like- like I was some kind of life line. Hands everywhere. Desperate. You know, I wasn't complaining. I've felt the same way about __**him**__ for years now." _

"_Get. Out. Of. My. Way." _

"_I could have had him, right there and then. I could probably have __**kept**__ him, too." _

"_I have few qualms about going __**through you**__ to begin with. They are rapidly growing even less. Literally through you, you realize." _

"_He stayed the whole night. And you know what he did, after he nearly sucked my lungs out through my mouth? After he thoroughly groped me and made noises I didn't know he could make and dragged me into my room? No, don't you __**dare**__." _

"_Don't __**touch m-**__"_

"_He pushed me away! He pushed me away and spent the __**rest of the night**__ talking about __**you**__." _

"…_What?" _

"_You heard me, you stubborn, stupid Elf. Got drunk as a sailor and talked. About being lonely. About feeling like a fool. And about not wanting to use me or __**scare you away**__ even further." _

"_I-why are you-" _

"_I don't give a flying fig who you're screwing, if you're happy with them, or- actually- how happy you are in general, Fenris. I __**hate**__ you for having him. I admit it. If he'd wanted me that night, I'd have said yes, please, so fast your pointy ears would catch fire. But he didn't want me. He never wanted me. He was lonely. Is lonely. But he's in love. And he will give you until the end of the world to come back to him, if you make him. I don't care about your happiness. I __**do**__ care about his. Because I love him. Always have. And I'm telling you right now you either take that thing off your wrist and __**let him go**__, or you don't and you go talk to him, but do one or the other soon. Because so help me, Fenris, I __**will**__ force your hand if you don't. I won't let you leave him like this for much longer." _

"_You have __**no right**__-" _

"_**Fuck**__ you. I have every right unless __**he**__ says I don't." _

"_He is mine, mage." _

"_Prove it, then. Prove it, or you don't have any place to say that. A one-night stand and a pretty bauble do not a lover make. And you call me a coward." ) _

Oh. _That's_ why his inner voice had Ander's flavor to it. He grimaced, shoved it away like it was covered in sewage.

It rather felt like it was.

"I love you." The words were like sandpaper on his tongue, in his throat- "It -it means- I-"

The last of his sentence was muffled by lips pressed to his own. Aidyn's arms were wrapped around him, tangled in his hair, and the little mage was shaking with laughter.

When he at last fell back, Aidyn's eyes were shining in a way that made his laughter of before seem bland in comparison.

"I know. I_ know_. You say it all the time without saying a word." Softly, so very close to Fenris. His eyes flicked to the gauntlets near the bed, the slash of red still bound around one. Tattered, now, but clean, it hadn't been removed for more then long enough to make certain it _was_ clean in just as many years as Aidyn had waited for Fenris. And more, now.

Eventually it would fall apart, and he was _completely irrationally_ frightened of that.

"But it's nice to hear it at last." He whispers, with a gentle smile. "How do I-will you tell me how to say it back? Properly, I mean."

"You say it constantly." He laughed out- Aidyn never hesitated to say _I love you_, said it all the time, said it casually as saying _I want some lunch_, like it was a simple fact that needed no ceremony behind it. He didn't _belittle_ it, it just- was a part of his life.

Fenris had never been able to say it back, but there had always been something soothing, comforting in that. Aidyn and himself clashed hard from time to time- they had difficulties, in part because Aidyn was a mage though that was not always the extent of it-and very little in his life was certain. But despite these things and others, one, unwavering truth remained, and Aidyn never sounded anything but utterly sure.

But now his little mage watched him with solomn, soft eyes- and that damned pattern around the left- and bit his lip softly. "I'd kill the pronunciation, anyway." He said, some of that happiness fading. It seemed no one as able to put that light in the mage's eyes or take it away on a whim as much as Fenris was, and that was _frightening_. He didn't want that much power over someone else. He didn't have the gentleness, the tenderness, to hold another person's heart. Well, outside of literally. He was meant for crushing, breaking, destroying and ending. It was all he was good at. All he'd ever been.

_All you have experienced, you fool, and you continue to wrap yourself again and again in chains. Stop staring like an empty-headed dolt and __**speak**__. _

"Te quoque amo."

"I- what?"

"_Te quoque amo_. That's- how you would- or could- reply." He'd picked a bare, basic phrase- plucked it half-remembered out of the air.

"I- can't possibly wrap my tongue around that." He grinned, and Fenris returned it before he could stop himself.

"You have a rather talented one. Don't underestimate it." _That_ earned a startled bark of laughter, and Aidyn blushed. He reached out, tugged Aidyn close again and let the man curl against his chest, head ducked under his neck.

He tried to say it, and Fenris couldn't help the slight wince. Aidyn laughed at himself.

"See? I-"

"Slowly. Pay attention to how I am saying _what_ I am saying." Fenris said, softly, sliding his hand under Aidyn's chin.

"Like teaching you to read." Gentle teasing in his tone, Aidyn leaned into his palm. "Difference is my mouth just doesn't _make _those sounds."

_Overgrown child. He's embarrassed. _

"You _did_ ask."

"I-" Aidyn ducked his head, rubbed the back of his neck, and tried again. Closer, this time. Still, the mage laughed. "Still bad?"

"Never." Fenris pulled him up, into a second, slow, lingering-

Full body jerk. He hissed in surprise and Aidyn _crowed_.

"I knew it. _I knew it_!"

"You- _don't you even_-"

"Why didn't I think about it? Most obvious place! Of course your ears are ticklish!"

"_Aidyn- __**Hawke-**__" _

"Wait until I tell _Varric_!"

"You will do no such thing."

"Oh, come _on_, it's perfect-ack- Fenris-"

"You will forget about this."

"Your powers have no control over me! I shall never forget the Weakness of the Pointy Ears- _Ow_, for _Maker's_ sake, I'm just _playing_-"

"So am I. I play rough."

"_OW!_ There is good-rough and there is _this_."

"If you had the self-preservation instincts of a goose, you'd stop_ fighting me_."

"Have you never _seen_ a goose, man? They're _evil_. Fenrismyarmdoesn'tbendthatway-"

"Perfect metaphor for _you_, then."

"I have bones. _Bones_! They're solid. Please stop _putting stress on them!" _

"I am doing nothing but holding you down. Stop _wriggling_ and you'll stop hurting yourself."

"I still found it. That's a win."

"You are a _brat_."

"…still found it!"


	2. Hot Blooded

**Title**: Hot Blooded

**Rating**: T

**Genre**: Humor/hurt-comfort/romance

**Characters**: Sherwood Hawke, Fenris, Carver, Varric

**Pairing**: Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaime**r: Still don't own it, though I suppose in the most technical of ways Sherwood is my creation. My game is not fixed, but was replaced by a shiny brand new copy, so I am happy. ^.^ I also got DA:O Ultimate the other day, and am steadily making my way through Origins and then Awakening. So yay!

**A/N:**Sherwood is another mage, yes. He's a loveable goofball who won't go out of his way to avoid a fight or be tactful, unlike Aidyn, who really _is_ diplomatic…sometimes. He's a little, um, insane. But in a good way!

* * *

><p>If there was one thing Fenris was certain of, it was that Sherwood Hawke was mad. Utterly, absolutely mad, and if he hadn't had more faith in the man he'd be clawing at the of the Knight-Commander's boots to get her to drag the man into custody for the good of all the <em>non explosion inclined<em> members of society.

Laughing, wild strawberry blonde hair flying as he whirled and blasted half a dozen coterie back with a blast of pure, unfiltered power, calling out a _playful_ taunt to Carver- playful, in the middle of all this mess- he finally caught Fenris watching.

"Dance isn't over yet, elf!" He laughed out. "Watch your back, or I may have to save it with _magic_!"

And those _eyes_. Eerie on a good day, eyes so pale a silver-gray they seemed clear. Perhaps it was Fenris who was _called_ little wolf, but those were predator's eyes if he had ever seen them, piercing and wild.

He whirled, blade slicing through armor and flesh and blood soaking into the wooden floor as the last of His their attackers fell. He sheathed the blade, made his way to Sherwood's side.

He had _hated_ this man, for so very long. Hated his extreme support of the _abomination_, his refusal to _listen_ to reason. Hated that he had been showed, forcefully and painfully, that he did not like being spoken to as bluntly as he spoke, hated that Sherwood was not frightened of him, hated those _strange_ eyes that seemed to look through him to his very core. He was careless, flirtatious, irreverent, flippant. He seemed to _live_ to crawl under Fenris's skin, to annoy him and irritate him and _turn his blood to fire_ in so many ways. And had hated, hated, _hated _how badly he'd wanted to put that sharp tongue to better use, to shut the blonde up, for once- wanted to see how hard it would be to pin him submissively below and _keep him there_, hated how badly he _wanted_.

Even now, he and Sherwood slammed together like two run away carriages, violent and often painful. But there was no place he would be found but beside Hawke- for good or ill, he would stand beside his infuriating, stubborn, foolish, insane mage.

Sherwood's touch startled him out of memory, wrapping around his waist. He rolled his eyes but tolerated the tug that pulled him into a rough embrace, the blonde's chin on his shoulder. "Mm. Aren't you supposed to be the big, bad protector?"

"Oh- get a _room_." Carver gripped, and that was enough for Fenris to push his blonde away rather forcefully. Sherwood danced back, laughing.

"Well, there's plenty here, but I think Fenris might protest to getting down and dirty _down here_. Even I'm a bit squeamish at that, to be honest."

"_Sherwood!_"

"Hawke, that is quite enough."

Varric approached, shaking his head with a little grin. "If we make camp here for the night, are we going to have to put you two in opposite corners of the camp? With a guard between you?"

"Like that could stop us." Hawke snorted. Fenris's hand met the back of his head in warning, and there was a whine in reply.

"Not _nice_. I'm beat up enough without you helping."

The potion nearly hit Hawke in the face, earning a satisfying yelp and a bark of laughter from Varric. Spook, for his part, tried to comfort his master by bumping into his legs. As if hit by a battering ram, Sherwood was down, and then the blonde was laughing, too, arms around the Mabari's neck.

That night, it was during Fenris's watch that he was aware of _being_ watched; the hairs on the back of his neck didn't prickle, though, no cold alarm rolling through his belly, and he calmly turned to meet that pure-silver stare. _Then_ his hair stood up- those pale eyes were the thing of every storybook mage, as if he was so touched by magic that the color had simply leeched away from them. Beautiful- stunningly beautiful, set in golden-tanned skin and contrasted by dark tattoos- but none the less hard to hold the gaze of. Sherwood didn't move, laying on his side with Spook pressed up along him and one arm pillowing his head.

"You're perfectly beautiful, did you know?" He spoke without so much as twitching, voice low but not whispered. "You look like some sort of- ancient guardian spirit, or something."

Fenris chuckled. "You have an odd opinion of beauty."

"I have odd opinions on everything, but I think just about everyone would agree with this one."

"Flattery won't help you."

"I don't _need_ flattery." At last the man moved, sitting up. "I have to beat you off with a bloody stick. If I were inclined to do so. Which I'm, you know, not. Ever. Well. Unless you decide you're into that sort of-"

"_Hawke_."

A low, rumbling laugh. There was movement in the dark, and Sherwood was behind him. At his back. He stiffened out of reflex, but didn't protest when a powerful, callused hand settled on his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck gently. He relaxed slowly, trusting the mage in a way he didn't imagine he ever would any of them- of course,that _same_ mage spent hours underneath or on top of him, a vulnerable and exposed as they would ever be.

Somehow, this felt more intimate.

"Thank you. For coming here with me."

"Threats were made on your life." He smirked. "I'm the only one who gets that honor. I would not stand for it."

Another laugh. "Maker forbid." He purred. "Still. Thanks."

"As much as I may often wish to put you through a wall," He drawled, "I _do_ care about you." He smirked, started to turn to face Sherwood- but the grip on the back of his neck stopped him.

"I know. I'm- pretty bad at showing it, but I do, too, you know? I'm just a-"

"Tactless uncouth nug?"

"I was _going_ to say 'a little thoughtless sometimes', but yes, that. Thank you."

"We are a perfect pair, then." He didn't fight the hand on his neck. Sherwood was rarely serious, though the mage's moods could fluctuate as wildly as the adomination's. When he was like this, Fenris had learned to approach the situation like one might a wounded animal- cautiously, quietly, confidently, and most of all carefully.

"He never once let on, you know. That he didn't want us- Bethany and me-to have magic." A little laugh. "He was always proud. Or acted proud. I remember one time, Bethany lit his hair on fire. Once he doused himself, he called her his _little firebug_ for weeks. He was nearly bald." The laughter, soft and chuffing, warmed the back of Fenris's neck with halting exhales. "He was never surprised, though, about me."

"About you?"

"That I was better at blowing things up then putting them back together. " Another faint laugh. "I've always been bad at fixing things. I don't have the patience. Or the temper."

He reached back, found one of Sherwood's hands with his own and drew it around to trace whorls on the back lightly. Touch calmed his lover; a point, like so many others, where they differed. Fenris couldn't stand to be touched when he was upset- could barely handle touch when he was calm and relaxed. Only Sherwood could do this, drape over him like a blanket, and even then there were days that was done with utmost caution.

"What, no, 'Sherwood, please refrain from telling tales about setting your mother's arse on fire?' Which _did_ happen, by the way. A lot of things accidentally ignited around Bethany and I. Luckily, no one ever got hurt. Well, mother couldn't sit right for a while-"

"_Hush, _please. And I don't sound like that."

"You do, too. You sound like you ate a fistful of gravel. You could recite numbers at me and it would go straight to my cock."

"Sherwood, please refrain from verbally molesting me _in front of your brother_."

"He's asleep. Carver sleeps like a sodding log, Templar or no. But really. I would think you'd want me to shut up about- mage things. Magic."

Fenris shrugged. "You're talking about your family. I like hearing you talk about them."

"…do you wish-" A pause, an awkward little shrug. "I mean, with your sister."

"That was very eloquent, Hawke, now put the two together and maybe you'll get a whole thought."

"_Ass_. You know what I mean."

"Must we discuss this? Done is done, Sherwood, whatever I do or do not wish changes nothing."

"Might make me feel better." The comment was light and airy, but Fenris knew how to read his lover well enough to hear the ache under it.

"I doubt that." He turned at last, and got the full force of those pale eyes on his own. He didn't flinch away, but cupped one tatooed cheek and threaded his fingers in hair that was soft as silk and nearly as fine. Sherwood hesitated, then leaned into it, closing his eyes like a big cat being stroked. "You stayed my hand, Hawke. That I respect you is the only reason she's still alive. I don't- I _can't_- care for her. I don't even know her."

"You said- you remembered-"

"I have _some_ memories, yes. They are….fuzzy, at best. Disjointed. Disconnected. And hardly detailed."

"Apperantly I wasn't _that_ good. Ow!"

"_Quiet. _Do you want to bring every enemy in this blasted place to us?"

"Damn it, Fenris, you drew blood."

"Barely. It's no worse then a cat scratch, and if you hadn't yanked away it wouldn't have happened at all."

"You _pinched me._"

"_You_ do not know when to stop _talking_."

"Kiss it and make it better."

"…you want me to _what_?"

"Kiss it and make it better! It's traditon."

"It most certainly is not."

"Is so! How would you know? What if it's _Lothering_ tradition, then what?"

"Sherwood-"

"You cut me. Your own fault."

"I am _not_ going to _kiss_ your _bleeding wound. _That's- pointless, for one, kissing someone has no ability to heal them-"

"Maker, you need to talk to Anders more, he'd have something to say about that-"

"_And two_, Hawke, it's- wait, how do _you know_-?"

"Talk, just talk! Stop looking at me like Spook glaring me down over a hunk of meat, Fenris, you make me worry for my internal organs. We have some, um, interesting conversations. _Especially_ if Isabella's around. Speaking of her-"

"No. I don't want to know."

"Well, okay. But that thing I did with the ribbon and the ice washeridea -"

"_Venhedis_, Hawke, _shut up_!"

"_Now_ who's being loud? Aww, and blushing! Look, your ears go all pink!"

"If the _both_ of you do not _shut up_ and one of you _go to sleep_, I am going to take the sword and ram it up someone's ass." Carver's voice was a sleepy, irritated mumble from the pile of dark hair and limbs that was his sprawled form.

"Oh. Kinky."

Fenris growled and tugged a lock of blonde hair. Hard.

"Like a log, Hawke?"

"Well…usually." A sheepish grin. "I guess this has got us all a little high strung."

"_Now!_"

"Yes, ser, going to bed now, _ser_!" Sherwood snarked snappily, mocking a salute and the boot that flew from Carver's general direction didn't surprise Fenris in the least, though he did snort with laughter when it took Sherwood in the forehead.

"Ow. I can't get any respect around here. One day, it's going to get around that the Champion is mistreated by his closest companions- his own _brother_-"

"Hawke." Fenris stepped in smoothly before the owner of the eye that was _glaring death_ at the elder brother from Carver's bedroll could do more then think about murder, "You need to sleep."

Something dark and shadowed flitted over that face, in those silvery eyes, and Fenris suddenly hit on what he _should_ have realize all along. Sherwood didn't want to sleep because he either didn't want to dream, or he didn't want to let his guard down. Perhaps a bit of both. Fenris was familiar with that feeling; with the feeling of jolting from a dream in the middle of the night, panting and sweating and with half of him clinging to memory and the other half flinching away with eyes closed.

"Why don't you end your watch early?" Sherwood's smile was false, heavy. "I'll take over."

Fenris nodded, slowly. "Wake Varric for his watch earlier as well, then." He said, and knew he was being lied to when Hawke beamed at him and said 'of course, a man needs his beauty sleep.'

When Fenris woke, with only an instinctual, internal sense of what time it was- just after dawn- he was aware of a heavy, warm weight pressed against front and back. Something solid and also heavy rest on his ribs, and he could hear…

Soft laughter?

He opened his eyes, not moving another muscle, and got a face-full of fine blonde hair. He resisted the urdge to rear back in surprise, every muscle tensing as the laughter got a bit more obvious.

Sherwood was pressed against him, curled into a small, protective ball. His face was pressed against Fenris's chest, arms around him like a child with a beloved doll or as if Fenris was Spook. Said Mabari was on just his other side, heavy head resting on the elf's ribcage and snoring…rather loudly.

He lifted his head at last.

Carver crouched just on the other side of them, hand reached out as if he was going to shake one or the other- probably Hawke- away. He pulled back, still chuckling, ignoring Fenris's glare.

"Cute little love bugs, time to wake up."

"Carver, I'll turn you into a frog." Sherwood, sounding muffled and exhausted.

"You can't."

"Fine. But I _can_ freeze your armor to your skin, and so help me-"

He stretched, and Fenris expected him to pull away. Instead, though, he snuggled _closer_, arms tightening around Fenris's waist. Fenris reached out to carefully stroke the soft hair, uncertain, but earned a soft, content murmur in reply. They didn't _do_ this, even when they slept together; the most Sherwood tended to do was throw an arm over Fenris lightly. It was, typically, gone by morning, his lover's back pressed to his own.

"Hawke." He tried, and Sherwood let out a soft, disappointed sigh. He lifted his head, and this time, the silver eyes avoided _his_.

"I know, I know. No touchy the elf."

"No. It's alright." He said mildly, still surprised, but the hurt tone of Sherwood's voice took him aback. "Simply…unexpected."

A little shrug. "Maybe this whole thing just has me off my stride." Softly, still looking down. "Fenris…I want- I need-"

A soft cough interrupted them. They both stopped, turning to see Varric watching them uncomfortably.

"Carver, maybe we should let our snuggle-kittens wake up some. Come on, we'll check ahead a little, make sure it's clear."

Carver frowned, running a hand over his hair. "Should we split up?"

"If you don't think you and I- or your brother and the elf- can handle ourselves, Little Hawke, then I think we're in the wrong place."

"I seem to remember asking you not to call me that." There was significantly less heat in the words then there had been the first time, so many years ago. He sounded resigned, a little amused, and so much like his brother he probably would have been horrified. The two moved away, now bickering fully in low voices.

"Sherwood?" He hadn't even looked up through all that, which was so out-of-character for the antagonistic Hawke- particularly when it came to his brother- that it was enough to worry.

Sherwood met his eyes at last. "I don't know." Muttered. "Don't ask, because I don't know."

He stroked back the soft, blonde hair. He didn't always know what to do when Sherwood got like this, and he didn't get like this often enough to make it easy to figure out. Though he was hardly surprised that it happened now, particularly after Carver's rather clumsy response to the echoes of their father.

"Come on." Hawke murmured. "We can't just lay-"

Fenris tugged him back down, gently. "Tell me about him." He said, mildly, and Sherwood blinked in surprise.

"Fenris, he was a mage, you don't want-"

"He was your father." Softly. "I do not remember mine- if I have memories of him at all, somewhere. Tell me about him."

Sherwood put his head, carefully, on Fenris's shoulder. "I don't remember him perfectly, myself." He murmured. "Some things are clear, like they happened yesterday, but-"

"So speak of those."

"We can't just lay here and talk, Fenris-"

"Nothing will happen without you or Carver to speed it along." He pointed out. "We are in a rather secure area, as far as it goes. I'm curious."

A soft laugh. "Well- alright." He breathed, and he started to talk. Fenris listened, quietly, as Sherwood spoke of a man who he'd had all too little time with, a man who, Fenris thought, was quite a lot like his eldest son. He seemed like he'd had the same strength, the same determination, the same sharp tounge and slight insanity.

"He sounds," He said, at last, "like a good man."

"You think so?" Sherwood sat up, slowly, pushing soft hair out of his face. "Really?"

"Truly." He gave a small smile, and Sherwood's _entire face_ lit up. Like the sun- like a beacon. He was beautiful, when he smile like that- an honest smile, not the snide little smirk or arrogant and empty tilt of his lips, meant to charm.

And then, like a cloud rolling over, it was gone.

"That's a hell of a concession, from you."

Fenris sighed. "Sherwood-"

"I mean, he was an apostate and everything."

"Do not start this." He gritted, feeling empathy and affection turn into a desire to remove a valuable part of Sherwood's anatomy, as it so often did.

"Like me."

"Sherwood. Now is, perhaps, not the time to get into yet another argument as to the merits or lack thereof of magic."

There was a pause, then his blonde let out a soft breath. "No you're- no. I'm just- looking for someone to bite, I guess. I've got about four hundered things running through my mind and my heart is going to come up through my nose and you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just…I duno."

"Angry. Frightened. Conflicted." Fenris spoke softly. "Hunted, hunt_ing_, tired. I understand, Sherwood. Of anyone, I do."

Sherwood lifted his head with a small smile. "Yeah, I guess- you do."

"And I _also_ know that if you do not lock it away and continue to behave erratically, you will get the very person you most want to protect killed." Sherwood's smile faded.

"I am not-"

"You _are_. You always do, when something touches you personally. When you speak of Bethany or your father, when that madman took your mother-"

"_Don't_, Fenris-"

"After the Deep Roads, when Carver left you and your mother for the Templars, and now, when he is in danger from an unknown threat. You behave like a sick wolf, unpredictable and dangerous to everyone. Including the people you care for, who want to help you- who you want to keep safe. Including yourself."

"You have _no room to talk_-"

"I, of everyone, am the only one that does." He snapped. "Or are you allowed to point out when my behavior is harmful, but I can't return it?"

Sherwood went silent, then pulled his knees up and leaned his forehead on them. "Fuck you for being right." He muttered, hugging his legs. "I just- Maker, Fenris, I've never been the most stable person, alright? I'm amazed you haven't turned me into the Templars on sheer _principle_, yet, because if anyone's easy prey, it's me. And everything keeps happening on top of everything, over and over, no matter how hard I try to make things right and okay and _safe_-" The sob that choked out of his throat surprised him as much as Fenris. He went stock-still, shoulders tensed and stiff, fighting it back.

Fenris reached out, touched a shoulder. "There is no shame in it." He whispered. Sherwood didn't fling himself towards Fenris, didn't break into a flood of tears or cling to him desperately like in some silly story. Not Sherwood; who held himself away with as much feirce pride as Fenris did. Not Sherwood, who hid behind so many layers of armor that it put the guard's metal and steel and plating to shame. But he curled up a little tighter, and his shoulders shook silently while Fenris stroked and petted, paitently waiting for him to be done. It didn't take long; a few moments, and he'd forced himself to calm, rubbing an arm subtly over his eyes.

"I'm done." He whispered. "Thanks, Fenris."

"Of course." There were times, days, where Fenris was not certain what kept him at Sherwood's side; the mage worked tirelessly at annoying him, angering him, dragging him to be involved in mage affairs and help apostates and tearing apart the sheild of anger and hate and hurt he had built for himself. Poking holes in his righteous fear and anger, _forcing_ him to see things he would rather remain blind to.

Forcing him to see Sherwood as both mage and _person_, and, more frightening, a person he cared for, respected, even _trusted_.

And then there were times when he realize _those, _in part, were the reasons he stayed. The rest of it more rarely reminded him of it's existence. In times like now, however- the strength, the beauty and character and rarity that was Sherwood hit him like a punch to the stomach. The man was like a candle; he lit up to gladly warm and light the way for others, while casting a heavy, dark shadow that he tried to hide. Carver. His mother. Bethany. And now, this.

"Come." He said, rising and extending a hand. 'We've wasted too much time already, and Varric and your brother won't wait for us much longer."

"'Che. Carver's probably already wanting to come drag me along by the back of my shirt." He muttered. "Or go ahead and make us catch up."

"Shall I save him the trouble?" Fenris snagged the back of the soft material of Sherwood's robes- which masqueraded rather well as _not_ being robes- and gave a soft tug. The blonde swatted at him, and Fenris caught the offending arm, tugging him into a soft, slow, heated kiss.

Sherwood pulled back, head tipped. "What was that for?" He asked, licking his lips softly, like an animal tasting remains of something new and not unpleasant.

"A reminder." Was all Fenris offered- Sherwood was not stupid, and they did not use words and terms of affection and endearment. Not often, in any case- it wasn't them, and it wasn't needed.

It earned him that beaming smile again, and this time, it didn't fade away, only grew as Carver's voice echoed towards them and the sounds of a fight began. He was grabbed by the hand- any one else, and he would have taken it off, but he let Sherwood tow him, the pair running to join the others. Into battle, as they would always do. Side by side, as they were always meant to be.


	3. Hemophobia

**Title: Hemophobia**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Humor/Romance/Frienship**

**Characters: Aidyn Hawke, Merry Band of Misfits in full company minus one Sebastian and one off-camera Dog. **

**Pairing: Hawke/Fenris, Isabella/Merrill**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it, though I suppose in the most technical of ways Aidyn is my creation.  
><strong>

**A/N: If there is a specific name for fear of one's **_**own **_**blood- it was suggested to me there might be- I can't find it. If anyone can confirm there is a specific word for it, let me know; I'll change the title. **

**Also, credit for this idea goes to pauljr. The moment they mentioned it, the plot bunny started bouncing like mad in my brain. Thanks for the support and the new personal head cannon! **

*****_**Anser**_**-Goose. If anyone knows enough to know if it happens to be incorrect, please do say so. Like the other short, I make no promises about the translation. I wish there was a proper Arcanum work list, similar to the one we have for the Dalish- to my knowledge, we don't. Therefore, I'm doing what a few others have done and basing Fenris's language off Latin. **

**And just for the curious, I have two female Hawkes, one snarky/aggressive rogue and one aggressive warrior, and three male Hawkes; one snarky/silly mage (Aidyn himself), one diplomatic/silly warrior, and a second mage because I wanted a templar Carver play through, who is also of the more snarky/aggressive personality. **

* * *

><p>Battles, fights, scraps, brawls, and desperate life-or-death struggles were par for the course if you knew Aidyn Hawke in any way. In truth, they were a part of life in and near Kirkwall in general, for the most part. But being close, personal friends with the Champion of Kirkwall- well, it upped the chances of pain and death disturbingly.<p>

It was something you learned to live with, and in fact, possibly even enjoyed, after a while. When it _wasn't_ life or death, anyway- a brawl in the tavern was usually-usually- harmless, and _always_ a good way to blow off steam.

Not the best way, Isabella would drawl with bounced brows towards Fenris, who would groan and hide his face in a hand while Hawke and Anders sniggered like children in the corner and Merrill usually looked confused, but decent.

Actually, come to that, Merrill didn't look half as confused recently. In fact, she tended to blush and giggle when those comments were made, while Isabella looked on proudly.

Ah, corrupting influences over the innocent and naïve. What friends he had.

Varric panted softly as the last of the chaos from this particular scrape died away, glancing around to his companions, taking tally of injuries. Fenris, tugging Anders to his feet- and _that_ was a sight that made him fairly positive they were all drunker then was healthy- Isabella perched on a table, looking as though _bloody nothing had happened_, damn Rivani, Aveline kicking the last of the drunkards who'd started it out, and Merrill, who was also being dragged upright by Hawke.

"Squishy mages down." Aidyn teased, steadying her.

"I'll give you squishy." Anders muttered, from where he and Fenris had jerked away from each other and moved about six feet apart, and Merrill pouted.

"No fair. You're a mage, too!"

"I never said I didn't hit the deck." Aidyn chuckled. "But I have a tall, pale and broody knight in tarnished armor to keep me safe."

Fenris glowered.

"With his…_massive sword_, you mean." Isabella, all innocence.

Fenris glowered harder.

"Do _not_ answer that."

"Yes, ser." Aidyn drawled, mock-sniveling. Then, blurted rapid-fire- "Absoulutlywithhis_massiveblade,_ Bella-Gack!" As Fenris's hand met the back of his head soundly. Varric chuckled, giving Bianca a fond pat before putting her away gently and reclaiming his seat.

Then he frowned.

"Hawke, you said you went down?"

"Hm? Yes, I-Varric, really, that's crossing the line, even for _me_-"

He snorted, then broke into a low chuckle when Fenris twaped him _again_. The pair were like fire and ice, complete opposites that complimented each other perfectly. Hawke was _good_ for the elf. He wasn't sure how food for _Hawke_ Broody was, especially with the whole _rawr grr mages are evil_ shtick, but so far, so good. They'd been apart for about three years only to start up again near the start of this one, and they seemed- happy.

"Stop _hitting me_."

"Hawke-" Hate to break up this little love nest as much as he did, Varric reached out. "You might want to get Blondie to take a look at that." Hawke's arm must have hit a table or chair or the shiny steel edge of someone's _blade_, because there was a nice little gash ripping through the material of his sleeve on the arm turned towards Varric, and while the cut beneath didn't look horrible (later, he'd have to make it into blood-drenched bone, and edit out the part about Hawke apparently having a lack of _feeling on that entire side of his body_. Actually, wait, that last part could stay. Oh, could it ever.) but it was bad enough to make Merrill gasp and flinch, and Isabella let out a low, respectful whistle. Blood soaked his sleeve, started down the side of his tunic, and Hawke…

Hawke looked rather suspiciously pale.

"-did you not _feel_ that?" Blondie was saying, pushing off the wall and coming over in full mother-hen mode. The feathers did _not_ help that image at all. "Honestly, Hawke, sometimes I don't-Hawke?"

Varric had been wrong. Aidyn wasn't pale.

Aidyn was _white_.

"_Anser_?" That was something else- Varric had no idea what it _meant_, but Fenris occasionally called Aidyn that- at first, he'd assumed it was some version of Aidyn's name, or some pet term (not that Fenris was prone to fits of public affection) but the first time Aidyn had heard it he'd burst out into laughter and hidden his face. "Not nice." He'd groaned, but he hadn't meant it. And it hadn't gone away. The fact that Fenris had _any_ kind of pet name for Aidyn was enough for him- and Isabella and Merrill, who both giggled like little girls every time he said it.

Well, when Aidyn wasn't loosing blood and not saying a damn word. Anders moved in front of him, turning his head roughly- Fenris growled.

"Broody," Varric said, slowly, "attacking the man trying to help is a bad idea. Don't make me have Aveline muzzle you."

"Hey!" Aveline herself scowled over, at the same time as _Fenris_ did. Double-teamed. Damn it. He didn't wilt under the twin death stares out of sheer force of will.

"Hawke, stop looking at it. Look at me." Anders was ignoring them all, and his voice made Varric sit up and pay attention- he sounded really worried, terse.

"What's wrong?" Aveline asked, brisk and business like- the concern was an undertone at best. She was putting it aside, Varric knew- shelving it until she had _time _to deal with it. Hawke's breathing had turned shallow and fast, into panting, choked attempts for air, and now _Varric_ was worried. Poisoned blades popped unbidden into his mind, enchanted weapons, poisons and powders and things that could turn a simple fight in a tavern into something far worse. Anders didn't look at her, kept a firm grip on Hawke's chin.

"Hawke. I mean it. _Look at me_. Deep breaths. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to fix it." His voice had fallen into a soft, soothing cadence. e took Hawke's arm in his other hand. "Fenris- anyone- distract him."

"Distract- wait, Blondie, what-"

"Not _now_. I would like our fearless leader not to hyperventilate and pass out, so _please_-"

Varric glanced at Aveline, who nodded, and the pair casually moved forward. Varric knew his size- he had no delusions, he was a dwarf, he was _short_. But they, along with Fenris positioning himself just so, Isabella and Merrill catching on and finishing the circle- they hide the Champion from prying eyes. Everyone had a weakness. Even the Champion. The difference was, Hawke wasn't allowed to show it, have it- and frankly, there were some things even Varric knew didn't need to be spread all over Kirkwall like some kind of creeping vine.

And then, rasped, from inside their protective little huddle- "'nabesick." And yep, there, pretty as you please- he _was_.

All over Ander's ruffled feathers.

Their healer, to his credit, was probably pretty damn used to being hurled on. He blanched pale, and closed his eyes, pain and irritation and disgust warring on his expression before it went smooth as blank parchment. "Bucket please." He said, voice unperturbed, but when Merrill dared a giggle his eyes snapped, burning (Varric hopped he imagined that little touch of blue-white glow) to her. She stopped, hands clamped over her mouth and a blush on her cheeks. "Hawke-"

"SorryohMakerAndersI'msorry-"

Alright, _that_ was less funny. Hawke was still white, trembling visibly, his eyes closed, good arm wrapped around his stomach. "I'mreallyreallysorry-"

"Stop that. It's hardly the worst thing I've been covered in." Oh, Blondie was _good_. Smelled _foul_, but he was good. He had shucked the jacket and let it hit the floor, barely blinking, and his voice was still in that calm, soft healer-tone. "And it's not the first time someone threw up on me. Here, just hold onto this." He took the bucket Aveline handed him. "Hold that for him, Fenris?"

Broody didn't even mutter. He took the bucket, sliding to a knee where Anders had been and holding the bucket. One hand caressed Aidyn's face, gently petting and at the same time keeping him from turning his head when Anders moved to get better access to the wound.

"One thing at a time. Hawke, _stop panting_." Anders's tone was firm but gentle, then faded off as he closed his eyes to focus.

"Dizzy."

"Shh, _anser_. Calm. All is well." Fenris, tone more gentle then he'd ever heard it, low and soft. He was still keeping Hawke from looking, holding his face and petting it all at once.

"Doesn't _feel_ well."

"I'm working on that." Anders, popping back into the conversation. "Let's get him somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

"He can use my bed." Varric said, with a shrug. "Faster then anywhere else." _Probably cleaner then half the other places we could take him, too_, he didn't add. That wasn't really _fair_, though it was partly true.

"Good enough." Anders stood, and Fenris gently reached out, pulling Hawke to his feet. The arm was healed, but blood still soaked through, and every time it brushed his side Hawke flinched. He was making low, soft, distressed sounds in the back of his throat that boarded dangerously on _whimpering_. Still forming a protective huddle, they moved up the stairs, Varric closing and locking the door behind. No sooner was the door locked then did Hawke start struggling with his shirt.

"Alright, alright." Anders seemed to be the only one in the room who not only _understood_ what was going on with Hawke, but accepted it. And the mage wasn't telling, even while Fenris was getting more growly and Merrille clung to Isabella like moss to a tree. The Rivani wrapped an arm around her, soothingly thumbing a pointed ear like you would a cat. Merrill leaned into the touch and sighed, softly.

Oh, for the ability to properly enjoy the sight. Now, though, he barely had enough time to _notice_ it- Fenris had pulled off the shirt, and Anders had sat Hawke down on the edge of the bed. "It's gone." He was saying, softly; he didn't seem to be trying to _heal_ anything else, but he _was_ doing something- he could see a faint glow around his hands, not the blue-white of Anders' extra passenger but soft green. "Hawke- Fenris, run and get me a soft, wet cloth, please." He didn't look away from Hawke. "I think we're safe from any more, um, unexpected stomach rebellions."

"I _am_ sorry." Hawke croaked- he sounded better. Varric let out a breath when Aidyn took his first deeper one.

"If you apologize again _I _will hit you. . If you really feel bad about it, you can clean my coat for me. Better, get me a new one. Thanks." The last was directed to Fenris, who had done as he'd been told with uncharacteristic obedience. "Maybe you'd better do this part. I'd like to walk away with all my body parts where they're meant to be." He pushed upright- no smart crack from Hawke, which was scary by itself. Fenris took his position kneeling by his lover again, starting to clean away the blood. Anders let out a breath, folded his arms, and made a noise not unlike some irritated parent. Varric lifted a brow, but it was Isabella who spoke.

"Someone care to fill in us poor, non-magical folk?"

Anders sighed. "I don't _know_. Want to fill them _in_, Hawke?"

"Oh, shut up." Hawke's eyes were still closed, and he was still pale and trembling- Fenris touched their foreheads together, and he opened them. They were glazed and unfocused, and he didn't seem able to look at _anyone_ in the room. "Just _shut up_, Anders."

"Then if he's not allowed to speak, you'll just have to tell us yourself." Aveline said, arched. "I must say, I don't appreciate being kept in the dark about an apparently serious problem."

"It's not a problem!"

"It looks like a problem." Merrill, speaking for the first time. When Hawke glared in her general direction- _still_ not meeting her eyes- she squeaked and ducked closer to Isabella. Rivani tucked her into her side, tutting.

"Stop scaring the kitten, Hawke."

"He doesn't scare me-well, okay, maybe a little. Sometimes."

"Hawke _is_ pretty scary. Like a really big Marbari pup. Vicious." Varric added, and when the glare switched to him, he grinned innocently. _Sorry, Hawke, you've got nothing on the Combined Power of Broody and Muscles. _

"Hawke." Oooh, that was the I'm Dissapointed In You tone every parent had down pat. "What if it had been a _real_ fight? What if next time it _is_?"

"That wasn't real?" Isabella drawled. "I must be dreaming the massive bruise I'm going to have on my-"

"_Isabella_, not now."

"Oooh, Aveline. That _voice_. Do you use that voice on Donnic? Does he-"

"I'mafraidofblood."

Beat.

Beat.

"You're _what_?"

"I'm sorry, last time I checked you had no problem leaving people dumb enough to attack us, spiders, demons, abominations, and various other fleshy aggressors in small pieces."

"Well. I guess that means Broody doesn't have to worry about you turning to blood magic."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"What a _strange _thing to be afraid of. Blood can't hurt you, can it? Unless it's a blood mage, that is. I suppose then it could, but that would be the magic you'd need to worry about, not -shutting up, sorry…"

The shrill whistle stopped them all in their babbling. Varric's eyes went to Hawke, who had drawn his knees to his chest and put his face in them. And he instantly felt like a _jerk_ for having made a smart comment; Aidyn's ears were red, and his arms were over his head. Anders- the source of the whistle, which, wow, didn't know Blondie could make a sound that could call a dog from two streets over- was scowling at them all.

"Not _other people's blood_." Anders snapped, tightly, "Just his own. And considering any time you see your own blood, it's _outside_ your body instead of _in_, I'd say it's a completely justifiable thing to dislike seeing."

"Thanks, Anders." Said Hawke's knees, in a very soft voice. "'S okay."

"You got a 'why', Hawke?" Varric began, softly, pitching his voice low and gentle. Aidyn responded well to that tone; for all his bluster and bravado, the mage was- shit, just a kid- and not nearly as confident as he pretended to be.

"Yes. Maybe." Said The Knees. "Anders thinks so, anyway."

"And?"

"When we were little, I fell out of a tree. I was trying to show off for Bethy- uh, Bethany. Branch broke, and down I went. I landed on a rock and tore my head open. Not anything serious, but it- bleed. A lot. And I don't have any memory of actually _climbing_ the tree, or what happened between falling and my father coming. But there was…" The Knees whimpered. "It hurt. And there was a lot of blood. It's _stupid_."

"It is not. Put your damn legs down and talk to us properly." Anders tapped a knee, but Hawke didn't obey. "_Hawke_."

"It won't change anything. I can normally- I don't let it bother me. Usually."

"You told Anders this." It was the first time in a while Fenris had spoken, and _uh-oh_ flashed bright and red in the front of Varric's mind. He was sure he wasn't the only one who got that unspoken _and not me_. "How long has he known?"

"_He_ is about two feet away, you know…"

"A few years? I guess." The Knees sighed. "He kind of figured it out by himself. And I figured _someone_ should know, in case I- I don't know, pass out mid-battle or something-"

"What a reassuring thought."

"_Isabella_, don't be cruel."

"_Anyway_, he's the healer, so it- made sense-"

"And I told him to share with the class." Anders folded his arms over his chest. "But between he and Carver, I'm thinking of changing _Hawke_ to _Stubborn Bloody Mule."_

"Am not." Groused The Knees. They now sported a pair of sullen green eyes on top.

"Mature, Aidyn."

"Prig."

"Twit."

"Ass."

"Brat."

"_Children." _Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. The eyes dissapered.

"I'm going home." Said The Knees. "I've had about all the humiliation I can handle for one night."

"Oh, sweetheart." Isabella, all mockery gone from her tone, replaced by a gentle fondness. "It's just us."

"That's more then enough." The Knees muttered.

"Hawke." Varric sighed, and the Knees looked at him balefully again. "We were just- surprised, that's all. Come on, we're your friends."

"Yes, and what would the city think if everyone knew their Champion wanted to pass out like a little girl- no offense, Merrill-and-Isabella- and the sight of his own blood?"

"None taken, as I am _hardly_ a girl. Or little, for that matter."

"They won't know. _Will they, Varric?" _For a sweet, cute little air head, Merrill could sound downright threatening when she wanted to. Even if he'd _wanted_ to share this little piece of information to get around, he didn't dare with that tiny kitten growl coming from Merrill's throat.

Didn't help that the kitten could rip you apart _with her mind_.

"Of course not, Daisy." Varric frowned. "Hawke, I'm with Blondie on this one. It's really just not comfortable having a full conversation with your knees."

Slowly, the legs inched down, revealing a half-naked, half-curled up Hawke. He reached out, as if to touch Fenris's arm- Varric's frown deepened when the elf pulled away. Fenris was looking _scowly_, and honestly, no. No, Aidyn didn't _need_ this.

What a_ stupid_ thing to be jealous over.

"Sounds like you have every reason to dislike blood." Aveline said, mildly, from where she leaned in a corner. "And if you have a reaction like this, every time, it probably doesn't help."

"Not _every_ time." Aidyn muttered. "In a- a battle I'm so focused on you know, _not dying_ that I don't notice. And after Anders found out, he would help, if it _was_ bad. He can't heal it, make it go away, but he can…"

"Do what we did today." Varric noted that Anders had pointedly said _we_. "Clean him up, keep him calm, keep things from getting worse. I've seen people pass out over something like this." He chuckled, then quickly stiffled it when Hawke snarled at him.

"Not bloody funny-" He stopped, then groaned and put his face in his hand, waving the free one. "Alright, I _gave_ you that one. Run with it."

Isabella _tutted_, sauntering over to take the spot Fenris _still_ refused to claim, arm over Hawke's shoulders. He leaned into the touch, head propped on her own shoulder.

"It's no fun when you're not playing, too." She'd started combing her fingers through his hair, but there was nothing sexual in it. Isabella was as caught by Merrill as he'd ever imagined her to be able to be…and she knew damn well how fast her insides would become her outsides if she tried to take what was the Elf's.

"It hasn't changed anything so far." Merrill pointed out softly. "In fact, this is the first time _anything's _happened because of it. So what's the problem?"

"You did say you weren't likely to go down in a fit of panic in the middle of a fight." Varric agreed, with a shrug. "I'm glad we know- now we won't kill ourselves trying to figure out what's wrong if this happens and Blondie isn't there."

"That's it? No mockery, no bad jokes I completely deserve, no anything?"

Isabella laughed softly. "We're not _that_ cruel, sweet thing." She kissed his forehead. "Why don't you go home. A nice bath, a drink, Fenris…preferably all three at once. No better way to get over it, yes? I wouldn't complain about being invited to _that_ party."

Aidyn laughed for the first time, a weak little sound, and sent a questioning look towards Fenris.

"You don't have to. I'll be alright now."

"You're still unsteady. I'll not let you walk though Lowtown shaken, half drunk and alone." Fenris muttered, sounding exasperated. "Come." He extended a hand, and Aidyn paused before he took it.

_Good_, Varric thought, _they're have hot, possessive, jealous sex and I won't have to worry about Hawke crying his bruised heart out in his drink in my room. _

And if a little voice added, _now I can stop worrying about Hawke_ in soft, brotherly tones in the back of his mind, he crushed it swiftly.

* * *

><p>They did not have hot, possessive, jealous sex. Well, not at <em>first<em>. At first, it was _why didn't you tell me_ and _can't I have secrets, Maker knows you don't share everything, elf, _and _Nothing I keep from you has the potential to put us in danger_ and _oh, gee, well, thanks for the concern, Fenris, go home now._

Then it was _I am home, stop being a stubborn fool_ and _you spend a lot of time away from it for it being __**home**__, _and _you know why I don't stay_, and _do I? Really? Wow, nice to know you can read minds with those markings, too, _and _don't be a brat_ and then _you have no room to talk, acting like me telling Anders something I didn't tell you is on par with me- jumping him or something. That's not hot, it's irritating_, and _I'm sorry I expected you to trust me with something so significant after all I have trusted you. _

And then it was _trusted me? Maker, Fenris, you think I should be locked up in the Circle!_

Then it was a long, stunned, hurt silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you don't. And I understand what it's taken for you to-"

"Perhaps you're right. I should go."

"Oh, sod my damn mouth- Fenris, wait. Wait!"

"You're still drunk and shaken. You should sleep it off."

"No, that's not the way tonight is going to go. Come on, Fenris, you _know_ my mouth gets ahead of me, sometimes. I didn't _mean it_."

"I once heard from a man that no one actually says things they didn't mean- only things they didn't mean to speak aloud. Let go of me, Hawke."

"No- Fenris _please_ don't go again, please- I just got you back. Don't storm away from me over this, not now-"

"…Aidyn."

"Please."

"Aidyn-"

"…_Please._"

"Shhh, hush, _anser_. Hush, now."

"I'm sorry I said that. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's just- I hate being so weak, that a little blood-"

"Water."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm frightened of water. Open water, that is. I can swim well enough to keep from sinking like a stone, but being unable to see what is around and under me clearly sets my nerves on edge. Not knowing _what_ is with me, where I can't see. Along with being handicapped in movement and senses- it frightens me."

A sniffle. "Anders did the same thing, told me what he was most afraid of." A weak laugh. "Both of yours make _sense_, though."

"I must say, he has a point in that one's blood outside the body is- disconcerting. It's a reasonable thing to dislike-"

"But not to the point of passing out!"

To his own surprise, Fenris spoke next without thinking beforehand. Perhaps Aidyn was a contagious entity; he _never_ did that.

Well. Not _never_. But hardly as often as his quick-silver-tongued lover.

"At the very least, there is no danger of you becoming a blood mage."

Aidyn's jaw _dropped. _For a heartbeat, Fenris kicked himself- started to open his mouth, to apologize-

The laughter was soft and low and sweet, growing as Aidyn caught the look on his face.

"Oh _Maker_- from _you_, Fenris, really? Oh, that was _beautiful_." Aidyn wrapped his arms around Fenris's neck, pressed his slender face into his collar bone. "You are the most wonderful person ever."

He blinked. "Hardly." He murmured, even as he wrapped a hand around the back of Aidyn's head and stroked the thick, auburn hair.

"You _are_. And I'm being a silly- well, _goose_- aren't I?"

"You are forgiven. You can no more help that then the sky can help being blue."

"I…you are _mean_, you know that?"

"A moment ago, I was wonderful."

"Wonderfully _mean_."

Fenris chuckled, wincing slightly- more for effect then out of actual pain- as Aidyn thumped him in the shoulder with a light punch.

"I am terribly sorry to have been so cruel." He purred, as Aidyn pouted and folded his arms across his chest. "Dearest Aidyn. Is there any way I could make up for my indiscretion?"

And _then _they had hot, possessive, jealous sex. So it all worked out in the end, really.


	4. Messy

**Title: Messy**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Humor/Romance/Frienship**

**Characters: Sherwood Hawke, Fenris**

**Pairing: Hawke/Fenris**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it, though I suppose in the most technical of ways each Hawke is my creation. **

* * *

><p>"This- shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."<p>

The words were like a solid punch to the stomach, driving the wind out of him and leaving him speechless, paralyzed. Sherwood had never been- well, he'd always taken sex, relationships, casually. His flirting with Anders, with Merrill, Isabella, hell, with _Aveline_ and even Varric was all in good fun; he didn't mean anything by it.

Anders seemed to have developed quite the little crush on him, but everyone else seemed to realize he was just playing, and he was pretty sure Anders's crush was exactly that. He'd found a kindred spirit, a friend, and someone who made no secret of the fact that he was attracted to the person, not the body, and become enamored.

That…wasn't something he'd have said no to, to be honest. Anders was, frankly, _gorgeous_, for starters. And they shared the same intensity, the same red-hot passion, the belief that oppression was _wrong_ and mages should be free as the next man. He had a sense of humor that snuck up on you, under his grim intensity, coming out at all the most unexpected moments and making Sherwood bark with surprised laughter.

And he was gentle. So very gentle, and there was a part of Sherwood that wanted to protect and shield and support him, to take away the hurt, the anger, the things that made him cry out at night when they camped together or made his hands shake when they talked, sometimes.

If Fenris had never entered the picture, he would have rolled with it, willingly, let it go where it would and enjoyed the ride the whole time. But Fenris _had_ shown up.

And Sherwood's throat had gone utterly _dry_. The elf's voice alone was enough to send shudders down his spine; but those _eyes_, huge and green and expressive, under a mop of white hair that looked soft as silk and skin so dark, broken by lines of beautiful, swirling patterns of lyrium that _hummed_ when he accidentally touched the other man. (Causing them both to jump back more then once.) And when he activated them, he glowed like a star, a haunting, ghostly figure.

He'd wanted to touch and pet and kiss and oh, Maker, he wanted to lock the others up for an hour or two and just _have_.

Time had not made things better.

Fenris hadn't ever _rejected_ Sherwood's advances, but he'd never taken him up on them, either; coy as a cat, flirtatious in his quiet, subtle way, he'd danced circles around Sherwood. Hawke was used to having people fawn at his feet- he was well aware of his own appearance. Slightly spooky, _very_ exotic; he looked exactly like his father. The twins had taken after Leandra, but Sherwood was practically a carbon-copy of Malcolm. So his utter inability to get Fenris to give him what he wanted…

Well.

And then there was their relationship. They _grated_ on each other; each seemed to do their best to annoy the piss out of the other. In a way, it reminded him of his relationship with Carver (oh _ew_, bad idea.) But it _was _the same antagonistic, push-and-push-back relationship. Fenris disliked mages and magic. Okay, fine, he had his reasons for being that way- Sherwood didn't give a shit. Not all mages were the same.

Sherwood was strongly pro-mage, pro-mage freedom, and while he didn't snap and snarl the way Anders did, he made no secret of it.

Sherwood was flippant, uncaring, more then a tad insane. He said what he wanted to and didn't care if you liked him or not. Fenris was serious, intense, and often took Sherwood's attitude the wrong way. (_Oriana_, for a screaming example; he'd never meant to actually _make her a slave_, stupid fool Fenris was. He'd only gone along with it because he'd been _pissed_ that the elf would even suggest it, and was getting _sick_ of Fenris taking his anger out on the nearest target.)

The pair butted heads worse then a pair of goats. And Sherwood _loved it_.

Because despite that, he'd found a kindred spirit in Fenris; someone with his same, protective instincts, the same strength and honor and courage- someone who seemed to want to protect _Sherwood_ even as a mage. He understood Sherwood's jokes were often used as a shield, and he saw through them. He was cool to Sherwood's hot, the rock to his storm. He was a steadying presence when Sherwood needed it, and a blazing inferno when he wanted to be.

He was so _much_. He was fun and freedom, excitement and danger, he was- he was-

_Fenris_. And Sherwood realized _after_ everyone else in the entire fucking world that he was helplessly, hopelessly, in love.

And finally, _finally_, oh _Maker_ he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted for three years, after that horrible debacle with Hadriana. Fenris, in his arms, in his bed, _in him_.

The elf had been every bit as soft as he'd looked. Soft hair, soft skin, soft lips. His touch had been shy and skittish, and Sherwood had coaxed him like a timid, wild thing. Restrained his urge to simply take what he wanted and let Fenris move at his own pace, gave him control, let him do as he would until he thought he might loose his mind.

Then they'd fought for it, and that had been hot and sweet and delicious, and Sherwood found himself laughing with delight, with affection, with the sheer joy of a horrible evening turned wonderful.

And then he'd woken up, and everything had gone cold and tight in his stomach again. A hard knot of anxiety and realizing that this battle wasn't one he could win. Fenris was talking himself away.

Fenris. Did not. Love him.

And Maker, _Maker_, what a stupid fool he'd been. What a stupid, _stupid_ fool, to let himself fall in love. To let himself even _think_ about love.

_This shouldn't have happened_.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't gone head over heels like an idiot. A one off, no big deal, friends with benefits, okay, fine.

But…

_But_.

Maybe it was all one-sided. In his head. Maybe Fenris's anger had none of the overtures of play and good-natured debate he imagined they did. Maybe Fenris really _did_ simply…hate him.

And this…this was just a mistake.

_He_ was just a mistake.

He was well and truly on his way to self-pity when he saw it.

The red cloth tied around Fenris's gauntlet. _His_ red cloth, in fact; he recognized the scrap of material from…_somewhere_ in the house.

Tied around Fenris's wrist.

Like some sort of old-fashioned…

_Favor_.

"Oh, Fenris." It was as far as he got- the door _slammed_ behind the elf as he left the room.

Well. He'd waited three bloody years. He could wait a bit longer.

He smiled, somewhat tiredly, somewhat sadly to himself, running his hands over his face.

He hadn't been a mistake. He could only hope he didn't _make _one before Fenris realized he had by walking out.

"Well." He said, to the empty room that still smelled of sex and Fenris, "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't take too terribly long."

(It took another _three bloody years, _which Sherwood never let Fenris forget._ Ever.) _


	5. The Weight of Friendship

Title: Weight of Friendship

Rating: T

Genre: Angst/Friendship

Characters: Aidyn Hawke, Sebastian

Pairing: None

Disclaimer: They still haven't signed over the rights to me. Ah, well, their loss, I suppose. :P

A/N: I purposely made Aidyn so that everyone _but_ Merrill adored him; and she only disliked him because he disapproved of the whole blood magic-and-evil-mirrors thing. So, unsurprisingly, Sebastian was his friend, too. And his disapproval and obvious distaste for the more magically inclined side of his life broke poor little Aidyn's heart.

* * *

><p>"Bastian." The word was barely a breath, barely a word at all. Sebastian flinched, but forced himself to not turn, not yield, not to the soft voice or the pleading green eyes or the gentle, affectionate face. "Bastian, please? Just- talk to me. Please talk to me. You're my friend. Aren't you?"<p>

"Of course I am, Hawke." The words were on a tired sigh. He shouldn't have answered at all. "I am and will always be. That does not mean I agree with your every choice- or that I am not allowed to be _furious_ with you."

"…Between you and Fenris, it's _amazing_ that I don't just go out and brand a Tranquil stamp on my own forehead. What would you have had me _do_?"

"_Not_ go into the Fade to begin with, for one." He pushed down _hard_ on the part of him that wanted to snap.

"And let that boy die, or become worse then dead? Beautiful line of reasoning, Sebastian, I'm shocked that people in the Chantry are so ill-regarded-"

"Do not." Firm. Aidyn flinched slightly, dipped his head and brushed his hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Bastian. I didn't mean that- like that."

_(He'd called him 'Bastian' almost since the moment they'd met. He'd sort of wanted to dislike Aidyn, knowing the things the mage had done, caused. His companions and his methods weren't something he necessarily agreed with, and he was conflicted already- now it was even worse, torn not only between his place in his life but his personal ideals, as well. He'd been hurting and snappish and it needed a place to go- Aidyn, with his too-glib tongue and too casual attitude was the perfect outlet. _

_And then he'd shown up, holding his grandfather's bow awkwardly, his vibrant green eyes down and shuffling with clear uncertainty. He'd picked up easily on Sebastian's animosity, that much was clear, and his entire body language projected it, loud and clear. _

"_Here," He'd said, softly, quickly, as if frightened he'd done the wrong thing. "I, uh, have something that belongs to you." _

_And Sebastian had felt his dislike melt away, like grime washed off by cool water. Aidyn __**wanted**__ him to like him- wanted to be friends. And when the soft-spoken, playful man had apologized for not being there to protect his family- shame stung him, hard. He'd behaved like an ass. _

_His warm reply had caused Aidyn to light up like a beacon, his smile coming out like the sun from behind a cloud. He had a face made for smiling, laughing, and Sebastian couldn't help but think he wanted to keep that smile firmly in place.) _

Aidyn wasn't smiling now. He was fidgeting, hands behind his back, looking up and then down and nervously chewing at his lip.

"Look, it's not like I pushed you to come with me."

"I'm not allowed to disagree with things you do, Hawke?"

"You're _disagreeing_ with me _saving the life of a boy_, Sebastian!"

"I'm disagreeing with you interfering in a place that doesn't and _shouldn't_ involve you, and flat-out refusing to kill the boy if he became a threat!"

"Make him Tranquil, you mean! You have no idea what a- a _nightmarish_ thought that is, that I would have to do that to someone-"

"As opposed to letting him become a dream-walking monster? You wouldn't be choosing one life over another, you'd be making him _safe_."

"_Listen to you, _Sebastian! Do you _realize_ what you sound like? _Who_ you sound like? Fuck's sake!"

"Watch your language here, please." He gritted his teeth. "And who do I supposedly sound like?"

"You _sound_ like some kind of extremist Templar, treating mages like- some sort of dangerous wild animals-_oh, it's for their own good, they're dangerous_-"

"We're getting just a _tad_ off topic, don't you think?"

"Are we?" Aidyn's eyes were flashing but wet, too- not unusual. Aidyn was intensely emotional, Sebastian had come to learn, and usually was in tears if you got him worked up enough, in any extreme state of emotion. Still, the sight of the tears sent a pang through him.

"Yes, we are." He heard his voice gentling, to his own frustration. He was supposed to be _angry_. "I didn't lie when I said I was glad you returned safe. Unharmed, and _as yourself_."

"Surprised I didn't give in to the whims of a demon?"

"Not at all, actually." Softly, and _honestly_. There was something special about Aidyn. Sebastian couldn't put his finger on _what_, exactly, but it was there, burning brightly for anyone who knew how to look. "It's a treacherous place, Aidyn."

"Is that really why you worried?"

"Oh for- yes!" Sebastian threw up his hands. "You're a good person, Aidyn, but sometimes I'm not certain you make the right _choices_. And I don't want you Tranquil, and I _certainly_ am not going to call templars down on your head or whatever it is you were blathering about."

"Fenris- Fenris told me you said-"

Sebastian winced. Of course the elf would have said something; the two were close.

"I said it because it needed to be said, Hawke. Even unpleasantness needs to be voiced, from time to time."

Aidyn looked up, and the hurt on his face near broke Sebastian's resolve. "No one makes you stay with us, you know. But so help me, Sebastian, I won't let anyone hurt them. Not even you."

"Aidyn. I was just- talking. Bringing up a point that has since been resolved." He met Aidyn's eyes, forced the little apostate to look at him squarely. "Nothing is going to happen to any of you. Not because of me. I don't like it, I don't agree with it, but I am _your_ friend. That's the part that matters, at least now."

He stepped forward- when Aidyn physically moved back, Sebastian stopped and sighed. "Alright." He said, simply. "If you have need of me, Aidyn, you can find me here."

Aidyn shuffled for a moment, chewing his lip. " 'Kay." He said at last, very softly, turning away; his entire body language was subdued and slumped, like a kicked puppy, and Sebastian felt himself move before he fully gave his body permission. Aidyn actually jumped a little, at the touch to his shoulder.

"If you like, I'll tell you more about my Grandfather, if you come later." He offered, softly. "And you can tell me about your sister. I'd like to know about the infamous Hawke who turned her elder brother's hair purple once."

The laugh was sweet as honey, and the Aidyn's face lit up again.

"Father was _not_ pleased." He laughed out, smile softening. "I- okay. I'd like that."

Sebastian watched him go, his own smile fading a little. Aidyn was a good man, a good friend, a good heart. But he couldn't help but feel a knot in the pit of his belly, something tight and cold. Just because you _wanted to be friends with someone didn't mean you could. Just because Sebastian no longer wanted to dislike Aidyn didn't mean they would ever quite manage to see eye-to-eye, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen, in the days to come. _

_Ah, well. _One day at a time, and trust in the Maker that all would work out as it should. That it all was happening for a reason.

Trust and hope, because really, that was all that was left.


	6. Pest

**Title: Pest**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: None (mention of Hawke/Fenris) **

**Characters: Sherwood Hawke/Sebastian, mention of others**

**Disclaimer: You know, making me say 'not mine' so often might give me a complex.  
><strong>

**A/N: **Sebastian never could make up his mind about my Sherwood, in this play through. I didn't go all full out trying to rivalry him, but between Sherwood's extreme support of mages and his snarky personality, he never really got to full friendship, either. He boomeranged between over 50% friendship to nearly the same in rivalry so much we all got a bit motion sick. I am, to this day, delighted by that

And I _like _Sebastian, guys. I'm probably one of the few that does.

* * *

><p>"Do you antagonize <em>everyone<em>, or is it just me you enjoy poking until you get bitten?"

"I do like being bitten. Usually that honor goes to Fenris, though. Well, it did."

" 'Yes, Sebastian, I have absolutely no sense of tact or propriety and I live to annoy those around me'."

"You've been spending too much time with Aveline."

"I _like_ Aveline."

"Is that supposed to imply you don't like me? I'm hurt."

"You are not."

"You're right, I'm not. You know you can't resist my whimsical charms."

"Is _that_ the term for it now?"

"Ah-ha! He doesn't deny it!"

"What would be the _point_? You'd just deny my denying."

"See? You know me so well, Bastian. How can you claim to do anything but adore my Hawkeishness?"

"Oh, will you _stop that_?"

"You're smiling. Hide it away all you want, but I_ saw that_."

"Away with you. I'm trying to _read_."

"And _I'm_ trying to get you to come do something that involved _interaction with other people_. Shocker, I know. Come on, even Fenris is letting me drag him into this."

"_That_ is because you have Fenris tied around your pinky finger. Admit it or not."

"Fsssh, I'd like to hear you tell _him_ that. Stubborn bloody pointy-eared bastard he is-"

"_Hawke_-"

"Sorry, sorry. He just frustrates me, that's all."

"You two dance around each other like a pair of skittish cats."

"Oh-ho, is the Chantry boy going to offer me romantic advice?"

"I- you do remember I haven't actually _grown _up in the- never mind. Anyway, no. Just an observation."

"It doesn't- bother you? Us being both-"

"What? Human? Tall? Dark skinned? Completely insane?"

"Oh _ha ha_. Men. Both men."

"Should it?"

"I assumed-"

"And we all know what that makes of you and me. It's not my business who you- what you do in private."

"Isabella's right. You're cute when you blush."

"_Goodbye_, Hawke."

"Oh, come _on_. Anders is even coming, and he was easier to convince then you!"

"That's meant to be a ringing endorsement?"

"You're laughing. I see that."

"_You_ are _impossible_."

"Also, you're sexy when you get all accent-y like that. My s- my sister would have been swooning in your lap."

"Bethany? She sounds like a fine young lady, from what I've heard of her."

"She was. _Anyway._ Alcohol. Cards. Potential nakedness. Food. You. Come. Now."

"Ach-Hawke, let go! _Hawke!_"

"Do you_ ever_ eat? You're being dragged by a squishy mage. Have have dignity, _Prince Va-_Ow! Low blow, Sebastian! Pointy arrow is pointy!"

"Oh, I barely poked you. Let go."

"No! _Ow!_ Damn it, you little _shit_."

"Let go."

"No! _Ow!"_

"Please let go?"

"Stop _hitting me_."

"Stop _dragging_ me."

"…ahem. Children?"

"Grand Cleric-"

"Uh."

"Elthina, I'm sorry-"

"I was just borrowing-"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, _sod_ this. I'm sorry if we disturbed you, Grand Cleric, I'm just borrowing Sebastian for a little bit, okay?"

"…I-"

"_Sherwood_!"

"Enough, please, both of you. Messier Hawke, I believe you're leaving bruises on Sebastian's wrist."

"I- oh. _Oh_, shi-silly me. Sorry, 'Bastian."

"Does some one want to tell me why you're in the Chantry, making enough noise to wake the dead?"

"…not really, no."

"Then could you _stop_?"

"…yes, ma'am. Off we go, then, come along, Sebastian, out out out-"

"Well. That was one of the most humiliating moments in my life. Thank you, Sherwood."

"_That_ was? Damn, boy we've _got_ to get you out more."

"I'm sure slowly loosing my clothes in front of a drunken group of vagrants and ner'do'wells will be sufficient."

"I knew you couldn't resist me for long. Wait, what did you just- _Sebastian_, get your _ass _back here-!"


	7. Trouble Loves

**Title: Trouble Loves**

**Rating: PG-13 (language, mostly.) **

**Characters: Sherwood Hawke, Anders, Merrill, Fenris. **

**Pairing: Hawke/Fenris **

**A/N: Oh, this was fun to write, and it's one of my favorites even now. I feel like it's silly while being in character, and I'm rather proud of it. **

* * *

><p>"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake upwakeupwakeupwakeup-"<p>

"Andraste's _knickers_, I'm _awake_, Merrill. Your hands are like _ice_, woman! What?"

"I heard a something."

"You- _what_?"

"I _heard a something_. Don't you?"

"All I _hear_ is you waking me up before my watch and yammering at me."

"I didn't want to wake up Fenris because he's scary and the last time I shook him awake he almost broke my wrist without meaning to, and I didn't want to wake Hawke up because Hawke just went to sleep off his watch, and Varric is _impossible_ to wake up-"

"So you targeted me. With your ice-hands. Because you _heard a something_."

"It's not _my_ fault it's cold and Hawke made us put out the fire."

"It's your fault you feel the need to _man handle me_. Seriously, Merrill, _get off_."

"_Please_ come with me to check it out, Anders? Please!"

"Oh, for- you're a mage. A _blood mage_. Whatever boogymen you think the bushes have turned into, just turn them into dust."

"I'm _squishy_, Anders!"

"And I'm a wall of solid steel and muscle? Off!"

"Please? Pl- ohhhh, there it is again!"

"I am _not joking-_oh. Um."

"You heard it. You heard it, didn't you?"

"I heard…something…let me up."

"Do you see anything?"

"…No…and if there was something, Spook would be yapping his fool head off. I think you got spooked by a bunny or something, Merrill."

"You heard it, too!"

"Crazy can be conta-_what the hell is that_?"

"I don't _know_ but maybe we should wake up the others, do you think?"

"For a noise? Don't be a coward."

"Anderrrrs, it sounds like- like two really big things making a small really big thing."

"…is that your way of saying it sounds like two animals screwing? Because it doesn't, for one, don't _ask_ me how I know that, and for two, you won't burst into flames for being crass. If anyone will, it's me. And so far, so good."

"Then what _does_ it sound like?"

"It _sounds_ like- _Andraste's ass! Down!"_

"_Yikes!" _

"Anders? _Merrill_? What in the name of the Maker?…"

"Flying thing! Big flying thing! Hawke-"

"What is that?"

"_That_ would be a _turkey_. Why is a- holy _shit_-"

"Look out, it's coming around for another pass!"

"Fenris, you have a big sword, _stabbity!_"

"_Stabbit_- it's a _bird, _Anders. This is pathetic."

"So _kill it!_"

"_Sic_, _pupa_."

"I'm getting the idea you didn't just compliment me."

"Will someone _please_ just_- Ah!"_

"Careful, Merrill, it can just about carry you off. Holy _Maker_ that thing is _big_."

"Thank you, Sherwood, that is _remarkably helpful_."

"I thought it was 'just a bird', Fenris."

"_You_- shit!"

"Sorry! Sorry! I honestly didn't mean to do that, I swear, that was completely not aimed at you. Look, you're just a little-singed."

"Did you at least _hit_ something besides me, mage?"

"I _think_ I- oh. _Oh_, damn."

"The poor thing!"

"Alright, not a big deal. I'll make it fast."

"It's alright, Anders- really it is, you didn't _mean_ to hurt it-well, you didn't mean to make it suffer-"

"Thank you, Merrill, stop talking now. You, did I get you, really?"

"It's- barely."

"I really _didn't_ mean to. Here, let me-"

"That's not- don't-"

"Fuckshitbitchdamnhell!"

"…well that was educational."

"Not really, Merrill, you just need to get around more. Hawke, you alright?"

"No, it's- it's coming at you, Anders, blast it again!"

"It was flopping around like a _dying fish_, how it is- gack! _Shit!" _

"Anders!"

"Are we _sure_ it's not possessed?"

"…well, if it was, it's not now."

"I think you got it this time. Fenris, don't _poke _it-"

"Can someone tell me _what that thing was doing here?" _

"Well, no more Tal Vasoth…no raiders, bandits, or outlaws…"

"No undead, darkspawn, rogue Mabari, or rogue _mages_…"

"No spiders, animals, ancient guardians, evil, or over-enthusiastic templars…"

"So it had to be something, I guess."

"…all of you get your asses back into your tents and don't say another word. I'm going back to sleep, and we're going to pretend this didn't happen. Yes?"

"You _do_ know Varric will find out, like it or not."

"_Yes?"_

"Yes, ser, going to the tent now."


	8. His Alone

**His Alone**

**Characters: Aidyn Hawke + Fenris **

**Pairing: Hawke/Fenris**

**Rating: PG/T**

**Genre: Romance/Friendship**

**A/N: This is a…rather short one, but it felt right to end it here. **

**Disclaimer: Only Aidyn is mine, and even then, he **_**still**_** isn't. **

He has moods, like any other man. Varric calls him _angsty_ and _broody_ and Isabella makes jokes and Merrill wonders if he ever smiles and if he's grumpy all the time and Anders cracks that if Fenris ever laughed, he'd start running in the other direction as fast as possible, but he _does_ laugh. And smile. And joke, and tease, and play.

Fenris's laugh is low and shy, a deep, bass chuckle that always seems to surprise him. His laugh crinkles his eyes, at the corners, turns his face into something impish and young.

Some days, they will lay in bed for _hours _and talk and talk, and sometimes Fenris will laugh. Aidyn lays his head on the elf's chest and listens to it roll out of him, mixed with the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat.

And then there are days like today, moments like this one. Fenris has his arms around him, and they're stumbling together, sober and sane but both laughing, dancing to music only they can hear as Fenris _sings_ to him in some strange, purring language, his silk-covered-sand voice even lower then normal and his lips so very close to Aidyn's ear. And they spin and whirl and barely misstep, because it's like they know each other better then themselves and they know how to move with one another, in battle, in dance, in play, in love.

And Fenris's hands are on his waist, and he has pulled them close together, and they are kissing but not kissing, a light, butterfly brush of still-moving lips to his own. And it is _taste_ and _feel_ and _smell_ and _sound_ for a long moment, nothing more then that. When Fenris pulls back, when the world fills back in, his eyes are dancing and he kisses Aidyn's forehead, murmurs _"Anser_, have I managed to shut you up at last, if only for a moment?"

"Don't ruin the mood, elf." He teases right back, and he slips his arms around Fenris's neck. And selfishly, he's _glad. _This laughter, this smile, these private, wonderful moments, are all his and his alone.


	9. Sentinel

**Title: Sentinel**

**Characters: Really, _all_, at least mentioned in passing.**

**Genre: Angst/pathos, hurt/comfort, romance, friendship**

**Rating: T**

**A/N: _Eventually, we all went our separate ways- well, all except Fenris._**

**This…turned out way more depressing then I expected.**

**Disclaimer: It's sad and the game isn't mine. Double whammy.**

* * *

><p>"I did need you, you know."<p>

The words were so very soft.

"I always needed you. You were so- eager to assume I'd just shuffed you off, put you aside. You always thought you didn't- live up to me, somehow. You were wrong. I knew you'd protect her. Protect everyone I left behind. I was more surprised you didn't see what I was trusting you with. Instead, you saw what I was forcing on you."

"Brother."

"You're so determined to hate me. I don't know if that's because you're afraid of what will happen if you stop, or if it's me."

"_Brother_."

"I wasn't upset for me. I was upset for _her_. Do you know she _wept_ when you left? Like you'd died. Nothing I could say would help. She'd lost one baby, and then you went and left her. I wasn't her _baby_, Carver. Not anymore."

"Sherwood!" Hand on his arm, yanking him around. "Will you just- stop? Stop it."

Pulling away, pushing; a step back, a soft exhale that comes dangerous close to being a whimper. "I need you to know. I can't- right now-"

"Don't. I don't want to have this- fight with you-"

"What fight?" Sherwood gripped his wrist, tightly. "Carver, just- we're all each other has left, now, really. I just want you to know-"

"You've got to go." Carver, to his surprise, pulled him into a fierce hug. "Aveline and Donnic and I- we'll be fine, here. But you have _got to go_, Sherwood."

"You won't be fine." He gripped Carver more tightly, even as Fenris appeared on the docks. "There's a _war_. You're my _baby brother_."

"I'm a Templar." A soft laugh. "Or I was. We won't be staying in Kirkwall, brother. Too infamous. But we have to help where we can. And anyway, a group our size would be too conspicuous. I'll catch you up, Sherwood."

"You already _have_, you bloody git." And they embraced again. He didn't want to let go. Maker, how he didn't want to let go of his little brother, his only real family left. They'd been through everything, and come out alive and mostly sane and now-

"Sherwood. Time is running short." His lover's voice, calm and unphased but anyone familiar with Fenris could hear the sharp note of alarm in it. "You'll see him again. Come."

"Come with us." The words were pleading and low, and surprised even him. "Maker, Carver, just- come with us. _Please_."

"I can't." Carver pulled away first, this time. "Aveline and Donnic need all the help they can get, and all the friends, too. I'm just the first good-bye you'll be saying, you watch." Almost gentle.

Sherwood shook his head, hands on Carver's shoulders- "_Hawke_!"- "Not goodbye. Not for any of you. Just- until later."

"Until later, big brother." Carver shrugged his hands away, stepped back once, twice.

And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

Sherwood watched, scanned until he was _sure_ all signs of his sibling were gone, even as Fenris grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him towards Isabella's ship, calling him six kinds of idiot and cursing in at least two languages.

He didn't say goodbye, not to a single one of them.

Not when Anders declared himself too dangerous and the tension between himself and Fenris too big a distraction and vanished one day, hiding himself like an ally cat among some new city's underbelly.

Not when Merrill and Isabella left together, off to new sunrises and ports and to do and be whoever they wanted.

_Especially_ not when Varric told them he was getting to feel like a third wheel, and ready to start spreading the Magnificent Legacy of the Hawke around for all the world to hear, anyway.

He didn't say goodbye, and he prayed like he never had before that he wouldn't come to regret it.

Two years and counting.

_Well. We never said how __**much**__ later. _

Two years and counting.

He'd gotten good at waiting.


	10. Sentinel pt 2

**Sentinel pt. 2**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: Some stories Varric doesn't tell.**

**Genre: Pathos, drama.**

**Characters: Varric**

**A/N: OMG SHE'S BACK! **

**I wound up (somehow) losing my old saves so almost all my old Hawkes are gone now, sadly. But I started new play throughs recently, and it's been a while since I've written fanfiction to post anyway. So, here we are. **

**I was going to just scrap 'Untold' and start over totally with these Hawkes and Wardens, but then I re-read it and realized...I can't. Maybe I lost their save files, but Aidyn and Sherwood are still very much alive to me, and I'm thinking of making their characters fresh and playing through as them again, even with other Hawkes now added to the mix. So without further adu...this is me 'not leaving it like that'. Your comment inspired me, in large part, to finish this. **

Some stories, he doesn't tell. He holds them instead, like treasures, like jewls. These are the little things, the private things; Hawke's beaming grin and hurting eyes. Fenris's explosive temper and tender looks. Anders's motherly fussing and silly jokes. Isabella's warmth and play. Marrill's happy singing at dawn. Aveline's sweet smiles and shy blushes. Sebastian's surprising humor and warm friendship. Carver's strength and calm.

These are the things he remembers. High and low voices. Laughter. Cooperation despite vast differences. Hands on shoulders and soft kisses and holding hands like children, arms around waists, gripping the back of a neck solidly, squeezing an arm.

Late nights and talking for hours. Drinking, laughing, crying, praying, begging, raging. Card games. Dog drool and cat fur. Saving kittens at midnight and sneaking ham bones after dinner. Ser Pounce Alot Jr. and his Fuzzy Gang of Misfits guarded by The Vicious Rabbit in The Tower of The Spiky Monster. Crackling fires and warm over-stuffed chairs, surrounded by friends. Sputtering flames and filthy tables, dying campfires and cold rain, surrounded by friends.

These are the things he misses.

Lewd jokes and loving eyes. Ferocious arguments and ferocious protectiveness. _No one messes with you but me, no one kills him but me, no one kicks her ass but me, no one hurts them but me_. _I love you, I hate you. Don't go. Don't die. Why? _

_Please. _

These stories, he keeps. So when he wakes up in the Hanged Man, and the first thing he thinks is _I should tell Hawke_- and then he remembers there is no longer a Hawke to tell anything to, gone on Isabella's ship to what he _hopes_ is safety- so that when that happens, he can still have them close by.

Three years. Three years and counting.

He hopes stories are not all he has left of them. Varric loves telling them, and he loves even more the ones he holds close, but he'd much rather have _them_.


	11. Coy

**Coy**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: He does it just to annoy Fenris.**

**Genre: Romance, Humor**

**Characters: Fable Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Meet Fable Hawke. He's not unlike Sherwood, just- not a mage. And quite a bit more charming. Fable is my mostly-snarky, semi-diplomatic rogue rivalmance of Fenris. **

He knew Fable was a flirt. They all knew it; hell, _everyone_ knew that. Varric made it a point in his stories, in fact, playing it up for humor. But just because he knew Fable liked to tease and flirt did not mean that he took any kinder to it. He'd learned, after a few months, that it was just- the way he was.

"Will you _stop_ brooding at me?"

Learned, after a few months, that Fable was loyal and faithful and would never stray. In all the time they'd had this...dance of theirs...he'd never so much as touched anyone else. Well, _before_, when they were still just flirting and flitting around each other, of course, but since that first kiss, since that night after Hadriana...Fable hadn't laid hand on anyone.

_In three years' time_.

Oh, the occasional whore, of course. That one elf, in the Blooming Rose, the one that had been so fond of Nanette, became frequently visited, and in truth a good friend. The two had been seen often drinking together or simply wandering around town side-by-side, sometimes with Isabella or Varric, looking for trouble. But aside from him (and he was, in the end, still a whore), there was no one.

"I am not _brooding_."

"Sulking at me then. I didn't _ask_ her to kiss me, Fenris."

It should have been enough proof, really. And it was- truly, Fenris trusted Hawke. He did. It would have been pure foolishness _not_ to trust a man who hadn't walked away after three years. He'd tried, occasionally, to speak to Fenris about it. Typically, Fable had all the patience of a Marbari on the hunt, and so he'd restrained himself rather well waiting for an entire month before breeching the subject. Fenris had chased him off the scent then, and again and again. And despite his desire for the man to let it go, it had _stung_ when he'd finally stopped trying.

"You certainly weren't _fighting_ her."

"It's not like she was raping me under the table! It was a _thank you kiss_, what was I supposed to do, slap her in defense of my honor?"

He'd expected Hawke to run to Anders. It was no secret that the abomination desired _his_ Fable, and had from day one. It was hard to say if Fable returned his feelings, or if he was just Hawke being Hawke. He did think of Anders as a good friend, though, and the two had been close almost from the moment they'd met. So, serious or just as comfort, he'd been waiting for it. But no. No rebound. No relationship between them. Fable had, so far as Hawke could tell, even stopped _flirting_ with him; though that was very likely to keep Anders from getting the wrong idea. He liked to play, but he was careful about honestly hurting anyone.

"That would be a good start."

"_Leto_, for the Maker's sake-"

And then, three years later, there he'd been, in Fenris's home, coy and laughing as ever. And just like that, so easily, he'd forgiven. Accepted. Later, after their... _official_ reunion...he'd told Fenris simply, honestly, that he loved him. Loved _him_, period, with all his spines and quirks, even though they butted heads often, fought loudly, had nearly come to blows- loved him. That- _and no offense, Fenris, don't take this the wrong way_- that it was like taming a wolf. You had to be patient, and let it come to you. _I knew you'd come back. I always knew; it was just a matter of when. _

"Don't _Leto_ me, like a mother with a child. You are younger then I am, Hawke, and I have every right to be annoyed at you."

"_Fine_ then. Fenris, yank your head out of your ass and put your spines away, you're acting like an idiot. Is that better?"

"_Excuse me_ for stepping in to claim what is mine."

"...Yours, hu?"

The return must have brought some sense of security back to Hawke, because it wasn't long before he was his old self. He stopped going to the elf in the blooming rose for _sex_, but they stayed friends, and flirted shamelessly with each other. Isabella and Hawke made _endless_ sexual comments to each other, and it wasn't unusual for them to share a kiss. (Usually a peck on the lips or cheek; the first time, Fenris had _exploded_, but had since come to see it for what it was.) He even flirted with the abomination again, slightly, but lately it was more to try to get him to smile or laugh. To act like himself, and even _Fenris_ was concerned with the mage's behavior. He was an idiot, and dangerous, but kind and loyal and, when they weren't arguing, entertaining conversation.

The mage was a moron, but that didn't mean he wanted him dead. Just. Stopped. Before he hurt someone else. Before he hurt _Fable_.

"_Yes,_ mine."

"You know, if I tried to claim ownership of you you'd gut me like a fish. But you _own_ me, is that it? I'm yours, and no one else's?"

"_No one else's_. Hawke, do not play word games with me. If you wish to-"

"To _what?_"

"To end this-"

"Don't be a _dumbass_. Of course I don't. I didn't say I _minded_ being yours. I just found it amusing. Kind of ironic."

"...I would not mind you laying claim to me, Fable. Whatever you think. I have said it before, and I will again. I _am_ yours."

It had started like that. And then Tallis had shown up, and the two had hit it off like they'd been best friends for years. Hawke was helping a _Qunari_, and flirting non-stop with her while he did it. Back and forth banter and-

"...Hawke. Why are you smirking at me like that?"

"I'm smirking? I thought this was just my face's natural expression."

"_Fable Sampson Hawke_-"

"Oooh, I'm in _trouble_. Gonna spank me?"

-and Hawke. Smirking at. And watching him. The entire. Oh.

_Oh_.

"You are doing this _deliberately_."

"Doing what?"

"Annoying me. Flirting with everyone in sight to get a rise out of me-"

"I'll get a rise out of you, alright-"

"_Because you get some kind of sick_-"

"Oh, come _on_, Fenris. You're hot when you're all growly-possessive. You're hot anyway. But the whole marking-my-territory you-belong-to-me thing? Nnngh. Almost as hot as the declarations of loya- mmph!"

"Put that mouth of yours to better use."

He knew Fable was a flirt. They all knew it; hell, _everyone_ knew that. Varric made it a point in his stories, in fact, playing it up for humor. But just because he knew Fable liked to tease and flirt did not mean that he wasted any time reminding him who he _really_ belonged to.

And they both took pretty damn kindly to that.


End file.
